I Should Look More Like My Favorite Color
by LoyaltyFalters
Summary: Percy is feeling particularly bitter about everything that is going on around him. And when a fourteen-year-old starts to go into "angst-mode", it's easy for them to think of things they'd rather forget. Warning: Mentions of rape and over-all child abuse.


**_I do not own Percy Jackson, or anything similar to it. _**

* * *

_"Percy, honey, I'd like you to meet Gabriel. My fiancé. Say hi." _

The world just loved to fuck with Percy. He knew that much. Bad things were attracted to him like an Aphrodite kid to shoe sales. Even now, at fourteen, he felt odd and out of place, like some nuclear bomb surrounded by stuffed animals. Percy was dangerous, a weapon in the making, and he _hated it_. He gave Annabeth a fake smile as they finished their dance, and allowed his eyes to follow her as she walked over to her mother.

He was done with being some pawn to the Olympians, and even though it had only been around three years since he learned the truth of the Greek world, he found himself feeling the same as_ Luke_ every time he thought of the gods. Percy was thinking like _him _of all people! His teeth bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood. _He hated the gods…_

But that was a lie.

He couldn't—wouldn't hate the gods. It was just too hard. As Percy looked at one face of a sea-god in particular, the sad yet hopeful tune echoing in his head started to gain volume. It turned dark, mumblings of the ancient language he was so familiar with ringing in his ears. There was so much hopefulness in the song, but also a lot of hurt. Hurt that he had covered up for so long… Percy let out a bitter chuckle.

He sounded like a total idiot—like a seaweed brain, but he couldn't help it. His last hope of him not being the child of The Great Prophecy was shattered, and Percy had never felt lower. He had never felt so angry, and all his negative thoughts pounded against the walls of his head. Percy was confused, _and he hated it._

Part of him, the part that still was just a little kid, wanted to get to know his dad. This part longed for the caring of a father, the one who would joke about your first date and not tell your mom about finding you in the closet making out with your shirtless girlfriend. The one that would save you from the bullies and… Percy trailed off, forcing his eyes shut. No, he couldn't think about it. Not now.

_"Brat," the large, mostly bald man growled, the smell of beer still on his breath. A small, whimpering child was tightly curled up on the floor, wincing every time the man's foot crashed into his already bruised ribs._

Another part of him didn't want to know his father… And that part scared him. That part of him—his darker side—longed for justice, longed for the ability to prove to his father that he wasn't just some worthless offspring that wasn't supposed to be born. This part of him wanted to prove him wrong, even if it meant damning Olympus in the process. Percy shuddered.

Several seconds—or maybe minutes, he wasn't sure—later he opened his eyes again. No one was looking his way, and he couldn't help but smile at the small miracle he's be given. Maybe, just maybe, The Fates _were_ on his side. Percy took this moment of luckiness to slip out one the doors, which led to a long, silver hallway he'd never seen before. He didn't really care though. Pressing his back to the silvery wall, he sighed in relief. He sunk to the floor, knees going to his chest.

_A moment of peace,_ Percy thought exhaustedly. He smirked. _Now that's something new._

He was bitter, and he knew it. His emotions were slowly coming to the surface, and he wasn't stupid enough to think he wouldn't come to regret hiding it all. Still, the idea of sharing his feeling with _anyone_ about _anything_ made him feel nauseous. There was so many things he kept hidden, so many thoughts he had never shared. Percy sighed. Yeah, the last thing he needed was someone figuring out how he really felt about the prophecy, about his dad, about anything… His temper flared up.

_He hated the prophecy, he hated his dad; he hated everything!_ He slammed the back of his head against the wall to snap himself out of his rage. His eyes stung, but he didn't cry as he stared at the decorated ceiling above him.

_An eight year old boy stared at the ceiling of his apartment, naked body wracking with silent sobs. He was lying on the floor, trying with all his might to block out the sneers and taunts he was getting from the disgusting men sitting at the poker table. His sea green eyes, usually so joyfully bright, were glimmering with unshed tears. A thin stream of blood trickled from between his legs._

He never noticed the sound of a door opening, or the footsteps that followed it. Percy didn't notice anything until someone was crouched in front of him. The smell of the sea wafted across his face, and he flinched back. _No, no, no…_

"Perseus?" Percy felt his heart crack at the veiled concern in Poseidon's voice._ It's not real,_ he thought miserably. He had all but forgotten about the dried blood on his lower lip. More images flashed in his head, only a certain walrus was switched with another person all together. Cold green eyes glared down at him as a leather belt lashed across his bare back, the fabric wrapping around his too thin frame and creating welts across his fragile skin. _Just like Gabe, just like Gabe…_ He managed to choke out one word.

_"Percy, dear, how'd you get all those bruises on your arms?" The elderly teacher asked, concern etched on her kind face. The five-year-old looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes._

"What?" His voice was harsh, and Poseidon's brow furrowed, but he didn't ask if anything was wrong. He had dealt with his demigod children for years, and barely any of them liked affection or concern of any kind. Poseidon didn't take in to count that by the time he had even met most of those children, they had been old enough to not need guidance. Percy was only a child, and he did need guidance. "What do you want?"

Poseidon kept his tone careful, "You are not at the celebration." Percy bit down on his lip again.

"No, I'm not, _Dad_."

Poseidon threw caution to the wind. "Are you alright?" The son of the Poseidon almost started crying right then, and it took all of his willpower not to scream.

"I'm fine," he muttered. _I'm not_, his mind argued.

He told his mind to shut the fuck up, please and thank you. It was none of his business.

_"I'm fine," he smiled cutely. "My step-daddy was just trying to help me look like my favorite color."_

* * *

I always thought Percy should be a bit more bitter towards the gods, Gabe, and just life in general. I'm a total angst freak, so I couldn't help myself when this popped into my head. It sorta skips around, but I feel this is how Percy himself would think. No one's mind is perfectly ordered, and I figured this would be more of a "Let's-Pretend-I'm-Percy" one-shot.

It's not perfect, but I hope you like it. I really just needed to clean out some of the cobwebs in my head.

~Loyalty


End file.
